I had two nicknames in junior high. One was "Goofy Grace," which was pretty accurate, particularly if you've ever watched me try to play basketball, which I did in seventh and eighth grades for reasons that had to do with peer pressure and fear of missing out. The other was "Apolo," a reference to the fact that I was always apologizing. For everything. All the time. Practically every other sentence out of my mouth was, "I'm sorry."
If you've been reading this blog for any length of time, you'll know I have used it as a place to work through a lot of different things. Divorce. Being a single parent. Struggles to get my footing in my professional life. Personal and family history. For everything I write here, there are at least three things I leave out. And while I've tried to show that I'm making progress, to document the ways I'm healing and growing, I think there's an undercurrent of apology to a lot of what I've posted here, too.
I want that to change.
The truth is I have spent a lot of my life feeling like damaged goods. Hell, I am damaged goods. There's no use pretending otherwise. The critical shift lately has been how much less I feel like I need to apologize for it. No doubt I have therapy to thank. And faith, and friendship, and the simple passing of time.
We're all damaged goods in one way or another. It isn't my job to apologize to you for my scuffed and ripped places, nor is it to extract an apology from you for the cracks and worn spots in your heart. My job, as best I can tell, is to sit beside you and say, "Hey--look at us! We made it this far! Now, I wonder where we can go from here..."
Stop apologizing, and just keep living. Sounds all right to me.
Mother, photographer, writer. Expert in making things up as she goes and figuring things out along the way.